Fiery Rebirth
by rdc30
Summary: Liraeda Dawnflare was an promising apprentice of the Kirin Tor, until the Scourge of Lordaeron destroyed everything she held dear. Thrust into a new world of unspeakable evil and shifting alliances, Lira must overcome her loses and help protect Azeroth from the many dangers which threaten it.
1. Chapter 1

**AN**: I got back into WoW recently after reading Tides of War by Christie Golden. I really liked the way the warcraft story is getting more focused and actually advancing nicely.

Disclaimer: I do not own Warcraft. Everything belongs to Blizzard.

* * *

Lordaeron was especially pleasant during this time of the year. The long winter had passed just over a month ago and now life was slowly returning to the land in a spectacular fashion. Song birds and other creatures of the forest were waking from their long slumber and filled the air with the music of their calls. The smell of peace blossoms was carried through land by a refreshing breeze.

Liraeda Dawnflare awoke from her slumber to the sound of spring around her and the delightful smell of food. Pushing herself out of her cozy sleeping mat with a yawn, Lira blinked the remaining sleep out of her azure color eyes. Searching around her tent, she finally spotted her rune-inscribed leather traveling boots. After slipping into her gear and fixing her shoulder length platinum blond hair into a low ponytail, Lira grabbed her staff before finally exiting her tent to the near-blinding radiance of the morning sun.

Immediately, she spotted her mentor seating by the small campfire between their two tents. Archmage Modera smiled warmly at the sight of her apprentice and beckoned Lira to seat beside her at the fire. The elderly woman was clad in her immaculate purple robes with the sigil of the Kirin Tor proudly embroidered on the front. Her ornate staff lay at her side within easy reach.

Glancing South to the majestic Hinterlands, Lira smiled as she strode over to the fire and joined her teacher. Their journey had seen them travel many leagues from the wondrous city of Dalaran to the Arathi Highlands and back. Some might have questioned the wisdom of this lengthy journey when portals existed, but the wonders she had seen on this trip alone made it all worthwhile.

"Good morning Lira," Modera spoke as she stirred a steaming iron pot floating above the camp fire. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes Mistress," Lira smiled as she closed her eyes and took in the delicious aroma of the stew. "I accidently overheard what Archmage Antonidas told you last night. Is it true the Horde has captured a Lordaeron fleet at Southshore?"

"Oh, you 'accidently' overheard did you?" Modera asked with a sly grin before her face turned grim. "Unfortunately, yes, it is true. They say Blackmoore's super orc has declared himself War Chief and rallied many clans to his side."

"We should have just executed those savages when we had the chance," Lira growled as her hands tightened around the hem of her robe sleeves. "The orcs were a time-bomb just waiting to go off."

"We do not have the right to determine the fate of so many," Modera quietly admonished her apprentice. Holding out her hand, a wooden bowl materialized in her palm and the Archmage poured a serving of the slew intp it. Handing the stew to Lira, Modera continued. "Besides, it had been believed that when the orcs were depraved of their fel magic, they would eventually overcome the corruption and turn into a more docile people."

"I…apologize, Mistress," Lira sighed as she began to take small sips of the delicious mushroom stew. The controversial conversation had overshadowed the pleasant smell and left a bitter taste in her mouth. "It is just…we should not have just left them in those camps."

"They say hindsight is crystal clear," Modera commentated as she began to down her own stew. "We can only hope that the Kul Tiras navy catches up to this new Horde before they regroup."

"Well, maybe King Terenas can use this to get the Alliance back together." Lira jested in an effort to alleviate the awkward route their conversation taken. "Things have certainly fallen apart since the War."

"It is in our nature," Modera replied with a smile as she finished her stew. "Humans, and elves, will only work together so long it is in our interest."

When Lira finished her meal, Modera smiled as she handed her empty bowl to her apprentice. "You know the drill, my young apprentice."

"Of course," Lira groaned in misery as she accepted the wooden bowl. "This exercise is pointless. I do not understand why we still bother with it."

"Just concentrate like we practiced," Modera encouraged as she watched her student shut her eyes in concentration. Lira muttered the arcane incantation and focused on the kitchen of the Violet Citadel. Teacher and student sat in silent anticipation as the seconds dragged on and nothing occurred. Then, just as Lira was about to abandon the exercise, a sound like the crack of thunder exploded all around her and a blinding light engulfed the camp.

A second later, as Lira realized she was still alive, she gingerly cracked open one of her eyes to inspect her surroundings. The camp appeared intact but she could hear the startled cries of animals around her as they fled the terrifying surge of arcane energy.

"Well done, child! Well done!"

Looking down in confusion at the bowl, Lira was surprised to see her outstretched hand empty. Her eyes widened in surprise before a smile split across her face. A surge of pride filled her and she resisted the urge to jump up and down in happiness.

Her mentor's face beamed with happiness that matched her own. Modera placed a hand on Lira's shoulder encouragingly. "You should have more faith in your abilities, young one."

Lira's smile faltered slightly as Modera picked up the over bowl and handed it to her.

"Now," Modera stated with a confident smile, "do the same with this one. Remember that it is not beyond your ability. Trust yourself."

Somewhat reassured by her mentor, Lira nodded and accepted the vile object that had been the bane of her existence for the past four years. For a High Elf, she was had been born with unusually high magical potential, but to her eternal shame, lacked the legendary control that distinguished her people from other races. The other Quel'dorei apprentices whispered behind her back that she must be a half-breed.

Putting the past behind her, Lira focused again on the bowl sitting in her palm. Taking a deep and nervous breath, she whispered the incantations and concentrated on the location she wanted to teleport her nemesis. As she completed the spell, Lira barely had time to prepare herself before another blast of arcane power engulfed the camp. As the light faded, she eagerly looked down at her hands only to find a smoldering pile of ash rapidly disintegrating in the breeze.

Sighing in defeat, Lira slowly pushed herself to her feet as her mentor gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before she began to pack up the camp. The Archmage made several arcane gestures in the air and stepped back as the camp disappeared in a flash of light. The sun was now high in the sky, much to Lira's surprise. She had not realized how long they had sat around the campfire. Muttering a quick spell, Lira engulfed herself in arcane fire for a brief instant to burn the dirt and other undesirable things off her purple robes.

"Do not be so hard on yourself," Modera advised as the two of them grabbed their few personal possessions and headed for the main road. "Teleportation is an advanced technique and conjuration is not your main skill. Be patient. You are making excellent progress."

"I understand that," Lira argued as they stepped onto the cobblestone trail. "It is just that feel like I have hit a ceiling which I cannot get pass."

"Lira," Modera stated sternly, "I would not have taken you as an apprentice if I did not believe you have the potential to become a great mage. But understand, you have to put forth the effort. The greatest magisters of your people did not become who they are today by giving up so easily."

Lira nodded silently as she pondered the Archmage's words. It was not the first time her mentor had given her this speech. She realized that she was being impatient and that her progress was already impressive, but she wanted more. Looking forward, she dreaded the prospect of training for decades before she could attain a rank she could be proud of. She realized that it was unrealistic to expect so much considering that by Elven standards, she was barely more than a child.

Unfortunately, she had a lot to live up to. Her parents were both powerful magisters in Silvermoon and they expected her to carry on the legacy. Her biggest fear, buried deep in her mind, was the thought that they had used their influence to get her this apprenticeship. She dreaded the prospect of her accomplishment being nothing more than manufactured hoaxes.

Noting her dark mood, Modera smiled as she tried to cheer her apprentice up.

"Relax a bit, Lira, and enjoy yourself." She gestured around her at the rolling green hills and distant mountain peaks. "Who knows when you'll be able to simply appreciate the natural beauty of Azeroth?"

Despite everything, Lira could not help but grin as she stared off into the distance at the snow covered summit of Aerie Peak. The legendary Dwarven stronghold was said to be a majestic complex rivaling the scale of Ironforge. The Dwarves maintained their iconic griffins from the roosts near the pinnacle of the fortress. Most of her people would scoff derogatorily at the accomplishments of the 'lesser' races but Lira had spent most of life her in Dalaran, and had gained a unusual prospective compared to other Quel'dorei.

She had been extremely disappointed when her mentor had informed her they would not be visiting the Dwarven Hold on this expedition. The original route involved a sea journey from South Shore to the kingdom of Stromgarde and the return trip was to consist of a journey from the ancient stone ruins of the Arathi Highlands, through the Hinterlands and back to Dalaran.

Unfortunately, the Orc uprising and increasing bandit activity in the Alterac Mountains had put an end that plan. Her mentor had toyed with the idea of cutting the trip short and simply teleporting back to the Violet Citadel, but in the end, Modera had decided that Lira could use some more experience by seeing more of the world. Most apprentices spent more than a decade locked within the walls of Dalaran. While the city was gorgeous and unrivaled in its majesty by all save maybe Silvermoon, it still held the feeling of confinement and artificiality.

"Lira," Modera called back toward her as the two continued their detour back to the City of the Magi. "We're coming up on the Thondroril River. Once we cross that, we soon reach the town of Andorhal. Once there, we'll take the King's Road South back to Dalaran."

"Is the highway not dangerous these days?" Lira asked as the thought of highwaymen, rampaging orcs and trolls filled her mind. Her grip on her staff tightened as the thought of possible combat loomed on the horizon.

"It is safe enough," Modera reassured her with an easy smile. "The roads are still regularly patrolled by a combined Alliance force, especially around Alterac. The orcs mostly keep to themselves on the mountains. Besides, we're hardly easy prey."

Lira nodded nervously as the two mages wondered down the road. She suddenly noticed how deserted the path seemed. She thought this was supposed to be a rather well-traveled route. The two had not encountered another soul since the start of their journey this morning. They had already traveled well into the afternoon. They should have seen merchants, travelers and guards.

She mentally reprimanded herself for her blatant paranoia. Her mistress was right. The two of them were hardly defenseless. She might not be able to teleport objects or freeze targets, but she did have an amazing ability to set things on fire. Archmage Modera was one of the oldest members of the Kirin Tor. It was widely believed that she was one of the Six, though everyone was too accustomed to tradition to ever speak of it. Between the two of them, it would probably take a small platoon to defeat them.

Confidence once again filled her as the thought of annihilating entire squads with but a gesture filled her mind. Reassured that all was right, Lira returned her attention to the idyllic landscape around her as the warmth of the sun washed over her.

The rest of the day passed without incident, nor any other travelers along the road. As the two magi finally decided to rest, the sun had nearly set, leaving nothing more than a red sliver of light on the horizon. The two of them had passed the majestic Thondroril River, which had left Lira in awe of its power. The raging torrent of water rushed down from the North like an unstoppable force of nature and emptied out into the massive Darrowmere Lake.

As they had continued westward, Lira had once again grown uncomfortable with the utter lack of people they had encounter on their journey. She had voiced her worries to Modera, who had, surprisingly, agreed with her apprentice's assessment. The two of them had decided it was unwise to camp outside and thus continued down the road in search of the outlying farms of Andorhal.

The two continued their search as the sun finally set and darkness covered the normally beautiful landscape, turning them into nightmarish shapes and endless shadows. Lira glanced around her constantly, nervousness once again filling her heart. Sneaking a reassuring peak at her mentor, Lira was comforted by the fact that the Archmage strode onward confidently with her glowing staff illuminating the surrounding area in purple light.

"Mistress…perhaps we should teleport back to Dalaran," Lira commentated uneasily as the shadows at the edges of her vision seemed to shift about as though something stalked them through the night. "I…I have a really bad feeling about this…"

"That is good," Modera commentated softly as she continued her advance without pause. "That shows you are getting more attuned to the arcane power in the air."

"I…I do not understand," Lira asked as she heard a faint rustle of the bushes to their left. "What does that have to do with the situation?"

"The air is filled with arcane energy," Modera explained grimly as the noise around them grew. It sounded like a group of beasts was lurking in the shadows and waiting to leap upon their soon-to-be victims. "Foul magic is at work here and I want to find out more."

Stunned into silence, Lira gulped nervously as she clutched her jeweled staff tightly in both hands and held it in front of her like a weapon. The sounds coming from the forest around them were terrifying and she felt panic began to rise. Suddenly, a hand gently grabbed her shoulder and Lira nearly jumped in fright. Snapping her head around, she let out a trembling sigh as the calming face of her mentor stared at her.

"Lira, calm yourself," the Archmage whispered as she squeezed the High Elf's shoulder reassuringly. "Remember what I said. You need to trust in your abilities. You can handle this."

Suddenly, before Lira could reply, multiple shapes burst out of the trees with a bone chilling battle cry that rattled her teeth with its intensity. Panic seized her and Lira raised her staff to the sky and began to chant an incantation. Flames swirled around her like a twister as arcane power flowed through her body. However, before she could cast her destructive spell, her mentor grabbed her arm. Immediately, the spell died out and the flames dissipated.

"Lira, stop," Modera commanded calmly as Lira gaped at her in confusion. "Look closely at who you were about to attack."

Confusion and embarrassment seized as Lira realized she had not even bothered to identify her target before she began her spell.

"Oi! Bloody hell, lass! Watch what ye're doing!"

Lira's face brightened slightly as the people she almost attacked moved out of the shadows into the light of Modera's staff. A small party of Wildhammer Dwarves clad in their famous feather covered armor and marked with intricate tattoos. The party consisted of five dwarves. Two of the dwarves were armed with muskets and carried the components for a dwarven mortar between them. The warrior she had almost attacked stood proudly in his plate armor and rune axe along with another similarly armed dwarf. Rounding off the group was an ancient figure dressed in a suit of beautifully designed rune armor wielding two mighty stormhammers that spoke of his immense strength.

"I…apologize, Master Dwarf," Lira stated as she tried to contain the embarrassment of her outburst. Curtsying politely, she bowed her head in apology. The Dwarves were honorable people and held good relations with both the Quel'dorei and the Magi of Dalaran. They were also ferocious fighters and unmatched warriors. She dreaded the thought of what would have happened had her mentor had not stayed her hand.

"It is we who should apologize, young one." The ancient dwarf shaman stepped forward as the other dwarves reverently moved out of his way. "We should not have startled you so."

"Greetings on behalf of the Kirin Tor, Master Dwarf." Modera intoned as she stepped in front of Lira gracefully. Thankful for the intervention, Lira stepped behind her mentor as the presence of so many stout warriors seemed to force the shadows back. The shapes and sounds that had haunted her for much of the journey receded and the forest once again took on a peaceful image. "My apprentice and I are traveling back to Dalaran when we sensed the presence of corrupted arcane energy. Might I guess that is why your band is here?"

"Indeed it is, milady. My name is Dungen Stonecaller." The shaman bowed his head in greetings as the rest of his band took up guard positions along the road. "I sensed the cries of the Earthmother in this land and came to find the source of her distress."

"Then our goals are the same," Modera commentated with a smile. "It would be best if we joined forces."

"The distress of the world would not usually concern mages," Dungen noted with a hint of disapproval. Lira winched slightly at the antagonistic tone of the old shaman. From what she had read, shamans gained their power through veneration of the elements. Mages, especially someone like Lira, utilized the arcane in order to bind the power of the elements to their will.

"However," Dungen continued with a sigh, "I sense great upheaval in the land up ahead. It would be folly to confront it with my small band. I…welcome your aid."


	2. Chapter 2

The twin moons of Azeroth shone brightly in the night sky as the party ventured along the deserted road toward the trade center of Andorhal. The sense of dread that had gripped Lira's heart was still present, but no longer all consuming. The comforting presence of so many others easily overshadowed her primal fear of the unknown. The sound of insects could be heard over the clanking of armored boots upon the cobblestone road as the heavily armed warband marched onward through the darkness.

The shadows that had frightened her had been forced back by the added illumination of several torches carried by the dwarves. Lira had tried to summon a sphere of fire to help light their path but a stern look from Dungen and a slight shake of Modera's head had put an end to that idea. Sighing, she continued her casual pace as her longer strides allowed her to easily keep up with the shorter dwarves. The forest had grown calm and Lira felt embarrassed at how fearful she had been just moments ago.

"They say people fear the unknown much more than they fear the deadliest monster in the world," Modera recited as she took up a position next to Lira. The old mage smiled at her apprentice as Lira realized she was no longer jumping at the slightest noise. "Do you remember who said that?"

"Of course Mistress," Lira stated with pride as she drew on all the knowledge she had accumulated during her studies in the Violet Citadel. "Archmage Khadgar said that when discussing what could await the Expedition on the other side of the Dark Portal."

"Wise words from a wise man, May the Light bless his soul, wherever he is," Modera whispered as the group came into sight of the first outlying farmstead. The town of Andorhal was a major trade center in Lordaeron. The farms surrounding it supplied grain to the entire Northern Boroughs. "Remember them and be on your guard."

Lira nodded absent-mindedly as she inspected the distant house with her superior sight. A frown soon clouded her face as a menacing aura seemed to surround the building. The wooden walls of the farm were rotting and the windows were stained with what looked like decades of accumulated grime. Turning to address the party, Lira voiced the ill news.

"The farm looks like it has been abandoned for years," she reported to her companions sadly. They had been hoping to locate lodging for the night and continue their travel in the morning. While the cover of darkness would aid in their scouting, in the end, the group had decided that everyone was exhausted from the long march and rest would greatly benefit their chances.

"Ready your weapons," Dungen commanded and the dwarves immediately assembled into battle ranks. "I sense the unnatural tint of the land. The Earth cries out in pain."

Lira's eyes widened in both surprise and dread and she snapped her head around to confirm what the old shaman observed. At first, nothing out of the ordinary jumped out at her. However, something felt wrong, like a shadow on the corner of her vision. As she looked closer, Lira gasped as the source of her uneasiness became apparent. The precious corps of the farm lay abandoned in bundles outside the ruined building, but more telling was the state of the valuable grain. The once golden wheat was now a sickly color of gray and so decayed it was liquefying like a vile stain across the earth upon which it lay.

The two heavily armored warriors raised their enchanted axes and advanced upon the seemingly deserted building. The two sharpshooters cocked their rifles and held them at ready as they as scanned the surrounding woods to prevent whatever horrors that stalked the shadows of this accursed land from ambushing them. Dungen remained with the two mages as his men moved to surround the building. Modera's face was set in a troubling frown as she watched the dwarves with concern.

"Mistress, is something wrong?" Lira asked with concern as she glanced at her mentor. Her entire body was tense with anticipation as she awaited the first possible clue to the nature of this bizarre situation. Was the corrupted energy she sensed in the air demonic in nature?

"I am not sure," Modera whispered as she seemed to concentrate on raking her mind for information. "The presence feels….familiar somehow, but I cannot place it." The Archmage scowled as she planted her staff in the ground and waited. "Whatever it is, it cannot be good. Be on your guard."

Lira steeled herself and nodded at her mentor with a new sense of determination. The first dwarf reached the front door of the farmhouse and looked back at Dungen. The shaman tightened his grip on his mighty stormhammers before responding with a curt nod. The lead warrior immediately returned his attention to the door he was facing and, with a mighty cry war, smashed his enchanted weapon into the wooden door.

The first thing that Lira noticed was the Light forsaken odor that emerged from the ruined doorway. The scent reminded her of the Dalaran alchemical laboratories but nothing she had experienced there could compare to the sickly sweet scent of decay that now assault her senses. The odor was so intense it momentarily stunned the dwarves as they recoiled in disgust. Lira felt her eyes begin to water and bile rise up her throat. She nearly expelled the contents of her stomach were it not for a supreme effort of will.

"Alright, ye cowardly gnomes," the lead warrior shouted as he quickly recovered from his initial shock and pushed ahead into the breach. "Tis no time tae be hangin round!" Gripping his two-handed battle-axe, the dwarf cautiously entered the house, followed by his nervous comrade. The two marksmen quickly began to patrol the house as they waited for whatever news their comrades would call out.

After a tense minute of waiting, the warriors finally emerged from the darkened rooms of the farmhouse. Lira breathed a sigh of relief as she realized she had been holding her breath. The body language of the two dwarves spoke of weariness and the fact that their weapons were lowered told the assembled party everything they needed to know.

"There ain't nothing in there but dead bodies." The lead dwarf called out grimly. Dungen and Modera frowned as Lira followed them down the road toward the house. "Plague, I'd wager."

"A plague…Antonidas mentioned rumors of a plague," Modera whispered as she pondered the situation. "But that does not explain the unnatural nature of this location." She turned to consult Dungen as Lira followed behind them. While she was relieved that nothing attacked the group, she was surprised to realize that she was also a bit disappointed. Deep down, she was startled to realize that she had hoped for a chance to prove herself in battle. Her magical talents in the mundane were average at best, but her skills had always been in the manipulation of fire. Unfortunately, she has never gotten a chance to showcase her skills and now it seemed like she was destined to wait once more.

As they approached the desolate farmhouse, the intense odor hanging in the air grew increasingly strong until Lira could almost feel the disgusting sensation on her skin. She brought her sleeve up and covered her lower face but it did little to alleviate her discomfort. The other dwarves were beginning to drag bodies out of the building. The corpses were hideously bloated and pus leaked out of disgusting sores all over their body. Their flesh had turned a sickly shade of green and yellowed bones could be seen where it had completely decomposed.

Modera halted her advance a short distance away from the corpses and Lira followed her lead. The bodies of humans and elves were remarkably similar, enough for a human and elf to produce an off-spring, thus there was a chance the plague would also transmit between them. The dwarves had no such worries, as Dungen kneeled down beside the corpse of an adult female, whose gender could only be discerned due to the dirty dress she wore, and placed his bare hand upon her forehead.

After a minute, the ancient dwarf turned to address the mages with a grim expression on his face. "This woman was killed by something unnatural." Too demonstrate, he grabbed a handful of dirt and whispered an incantation Lira could not hear. Then the shaman sprinkled the magically charged earth over the body of the woman. Lira's eyes widened in surprise as the dirt seemed to move around the body instead of coming into contact with it. The dwarf scowled as he rose to his feet. "The Earth itself is rejecting these bodies." Looking down sadly at the corpse of the unfortunately woman, the shaman's chiseled face softened with a sigh. "We should burn their bodies and allow their spirits to rest in peace."

"Is that wise, Master Dungen?" Lira ventured as she pondered the situation. "Would it not be better to retrieve the corpses so that a cure might be fashioned?" While she felt badly for the family who lived in the farm, the logical portion of her mind told her it was folly to destroy the bodies when there was still so much to learn. The dead were dead, but their bodies might save the living.

"My apprentice is correct," Modera commentated as she paced about the farm, inspecting the corrupted landscape. "I could teleport one of the corpses to the Violet Hold for study. A plague in Lordaeron could have devastating ramifications for the entire continent."

"Have these people not suffered enough?" Dungen demanded with a snare. He angrily jabbed his finger toward the roll of bodies that his men had carried out of the house. Lira winced slightly and averted her eyes as she caught sight of three children lying among the dead. The plague had claimed the lives of nearly a dozen members of this particular household, making no distinction between the young and the old. "These people desire to be laid to rest instead of locked away in your magical dungeons as subjects for your experiments."

Lira was about to protest when one of the dwarves yelled from inside the house. "Oi! There's a live one her…Aaaah!" The blood curdling scream pierced the night and froze everyone for a second. In that moment, the seemingly dead woman's body suddenly shot upright and sunk her rotting fang-like teeth into Dungen's throat. The ancient shaman cried out in a combination of anger and surprise as his face contorted into an expression of agony.

"Anar'alah!" Lira yelped in alarm as the entire site descended into frenzied anarchy. Dungen smashed one of his stormhammers into the torso of the dead woman with a blast of elemental energy even as the creature ripped out a large meaty section of his throat. The explosive blow sent the corpse flying backwards away from the shaman in several pieces as Dungen slowly collapsed to his knees. Lira was about to race to the mortally injured dwarf's side when a series of unnatural howls froze her in her tracks. The other corpses that had been laid out in front of the house were also starting to rise from their eternal slumber. A fiendish blue glow that spoke of endless hatred and hunger emanated from their empty eye-sockets.

"Tae arms! Fer the Thane!" The lead warrior screamed as he brandished his mighty weapon and turned to face the abominations slowly rising unsteadily to their feet. The first two corpses that rushed forward to overpower the stout dwarf were met with his enchanted steel. The dwarf swung the massive weapon through the air effortlessly and cleaved through the first zombie's torso and then decapitating its comrade with the return stroke.

His comrades raised their hand cannons and fired a barrage of buckshot in the swarm of undead that was moving to surround the lone warrior as he heroically held off the crowd of undead to protect the fallen shaman. The shots tore into the rotting bodies of the risen dead and shredded flesh and bone, leaving three of the zombies as little more than heaps of rotting flesh. The warrior cut down the last zombie attacking him with a ferocious chop to the neck that parted the creature's head from its body before turning to face the remaining undead.

However, he halted his stroke as he caught sight of the only remaining zombie slowly shambling toward him. The risen body of a girl wearing a stained white dress growled softly as it closed on the frozen dwarf. The fierce warrior stared at the corpse with a pained expression on his scared face but made no move to strike as the zombie glared at him with its unnatural orbs of light. "I'm sorry, lass." The dwarf whispered as the zombie released a piercing shriek and charged.

The dwarf brought his axe back into position as the zombie charged blindly toward him, heedless of the fact that the warrior was ready. However, before the undead could enter striking range, a bolt of icy arcane magic struck it in the back, causing it to stumble forward before falling to the ground. The dwarf watched with a scowl on his face as ice spread over the body of the zombie until it was trapped, frozen, in a block of magical ice. Modera strode up from behind the incapacitated zombie and joined Lira at Dungen's side. The other dwarf warrior walked out of the farmhouse with blood dripping from a wound on his hand but seemed otherwise uninjured.

Lira grimaced at the sight of the deathly pale shaman as blood oozed out of his neck wound and pooled on the ground around him. The dwarf had called on his powers to stem the blood loss before he lost consciousness but the wound still seemed fatal as Dungen's eyes flattered in some near death induced delirium. Reaching into her satchel, Lira retrieved a roll of bandages dipped in a powerful healing salve. She gingerly kneeled down and did her best to clean the wound even as Dungen began to mutter feverishly. Gently lifting the dwarf's head onto her lap, she wrapped the magically infused bandage around Dungen's neck as Modera kneeled down beside her.

"His condition does not bode well, Mistress." Lira whispered so that only her mentor could hear. "I believe he is suffering from a blood infection. He requires powerful healing magic." The dwarf's brow was covered in cold sweet and the blood had drained from his rugged face. Dark circles had formed around his eyes and his skin felt icy to the touch. It was heart wrenching to see the mighty shaman brought so low. The power he radiated was gone and the old dwarf seemed on the verge of death.

"I can teleport him and that captured undead creature back to Dalaran." Modera stated grimly as she emptied a vial of healing potion into Dungen's mouth. Lira grimaced as she noted the shaman nearly choking on the precious life-saving liquid before Modera massaged it down his throat. The shaman's incoherent ramblings ceased and his body seemed to relax somewhat as the potent mixture battled the disease consuming his body.

"We've done all I can with what we have." Modera called out to the lead warrior as he approached his fallen leader with a look of anguish on his face. Suddenly, Dungen's eyes snapped open and he grabbed Lira's hand like a vice grip. His eyes burned with an intense passion that caused Lira to jerk backwards in fear. The other dwarves immediately moved to restrain their leader as the madness in his eyes began to glow with the same light as the undead creatures.

"No! It is too late for me!" Dungen declared through clenched teeth as his grip on the High Elf's slender arm grew painful. "I can sense the corruption taking over my body!" Lira bit her lips to stifle a cry of pain as the two warriors tried to pry open the shaman's grip. The two marksmen appeared by their leader's side as they tried to pull the delirious shaman off the mage. Suddenly, with a ferocious cry, Dungen released Lira's arm and jerked to his feet. With an unnatural roar of rage, he tossed aside his kindred as though they were rag dolls before turning to move away from the group. Modera rushed to Lira's side as she nursed her injured arm in fear.

"I refuse to submit!" Dungen grunted as he stumbled away from the farm. The other dwarves regrouped slowly kept pace behind him with their weapons raised. The shaman soon dropped to one knee but his men were reluctant to approach as he still held onto one of his stormhammers like it was his salvation. The old dwarf's face spoke of untold pain as he struggled to stave off the corruption overtaking his body. "I will become one with the elements like the Earthen of old!"

Then, with a blast of elemental power, the shaman slammed his stormhammer into the earth. The shockwave of the magical explosion knocked all four dwarves off their feet. Lira coughed violently and tried to shield her face as dust filled the air. Modera immediately whispered an incantation and summoned a gust of icy wind that swept across the farm.

As the dust clear, Lira gasped in astonishment as she saw the shaman. The dwarf had been frozen in solid stone. His stormhammer was fused to the Earth and his face was set in a defiant scream directed toward the heavens. The other dwarves mirrored Lira's wonder and they dropped to their knees in respect. The ancient shaman had chosen death over become one of the undead.

"Shorel'aran, malanore," Lira whispered as the rest of the party slowly assembled in front of the fateful farmhouse. "Al diel shala."


End file.
